altar. He looked drawn and his skin was grey. A shiver passed across his shoulders.
‘You see, David found all that repulsive and wrong. He resisted and then he lost. He came up against an enemy and was beaten, not because of the superiority of mission or of mind, but because of the sheer, overwhelming, implacable weight of his foe. David tripped up. He was shamed . . . mortified. And he was forced - I mean forced - out of government. For that mistake he paid with his life. Responsibility for his death lies with the people here, in this church.’
The priest was having no more. ‘I think you’ve made your point. Now, please go back to your seat and we can continue with the service. You don’t want to spoil this occasion for others here, who I am sure you will understand grieve as much as you do.’
Darsh moved a step closer to the home secretary, who was now looking extremely uncomfortable. ‘This man and all of them sitting here with him know what I am talking about. We don’t have the details yet but they put an end to David’s life as surely as if they had set off that bomb.’
Someone behind Glenny leaned forward and spoke in his ear.
Darsh continued, ‘It’s the truth - and you all know it. David was killed. He was murdered.’
At this point two of the protection officers closed in and, with a nod from the priest, descended on Darsh. He dodged the first officer and managed to aim a blow at the home secretary’s head, at which a gasp of horror came from the back pews. Kate saw Diana Kidd’s hat rise up like a fishing float and Ingrid Eyam slump back in her pew with a look of social horror. Darsh was seized and thrown to the ground like a rag doll. His face was pressed into the two figures etched into medieval brass a few feet from where Lockhart sat. One officer held him down with a hand placed in the middle of his back while the other searched him for weapons.
A man got up and attempted to interpose himself. ‘Is this really necessary? I know him: He means no harm.’ But they took no notice. Darsh was picked up with the same contemptuous ease as he had been floored. ‘I was going to say a prayer,’ he shouted out. ‘It’s a Christian prayer.’ He began speaking in a high, panicky voice. ‘Though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day. While we look not at the things which are seen but the things which are not seen.’
As he was frogmarched towards the door he yelled out, ‘For the things . . . which are seen . . . are temporal; the things which are not seen . . . are ETERNAL.’
A moment later he was propelled from the church. A kind of reverence was restored and the service limped to its conclusion. Then it was time for David Eyam’s remains to be borne from the church and taken to a crematorium where the job of incineration would be completed. Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor were played on a clattering, wheezy organ and after a moment of introspection the congregation filed out, led by Ingrid Eyam on Glenny’s arm.
Kate waited, looking at the faces that passed her, and became aware of Kilmartin, the man from the inquest, watching her from the other side of the aisle with candid interest. When their eyes met he gave her a little bow of his head then looked away. The crush of people in the aisle meant she could not leave immediately. Her eyes fell to some verses on the back page of the order of service, which she had not noticed before.
The Death of Me
Carry me over floods, sister!
Carry me to the other side!
And I’ll wait for you here, sister,
’Til we cross the swelling tide.
I may be gone for now, sister,
For others say I’ve died.
But I’ll wait for you here, sister,
’Til we take the waters wide.
I lost my heart to you, sister;
Then death became my bride.
Carry me over floods, sister;
Carry me from where I hide.
Carry me over floods, sister;
Carry me to the other side.
And I’ll wait for you here , sister,
My
‘You see, David found all that repulsive and wrong. He resisted and then he lost. He came up against an enemy and was beaten, not because of the superiority of mission or of mind, but because of the sheer, overwhelming, implacable weight of his foe. David tripped up. He was shamed . . . mortified. And he was forced - I mean forced - out of government. For that mistake he paid with his life. Responsibility for his death lies with the people here, in this church.’
The priest was having no more. ‘I think you’ve made your point. Now, please go back to your seat and we can continue with the service. You don’t want to spoil this occasion for others here, who I am sure you will understand grieve as much as you do.’
Darsh moved a step closer to the home secretary, who was now looking extremely uncomfortable. ‘This man and all of them sitting here with him know what I am talking about. We don’t have the details yet but they put an end to David’s life as surely as if they had set off that bomb.’
Someone behind Glenny leaned forward and spoke in his ear.
Darsh continued, ‘It’s the truth - and you all know it. David was killed. He was murdered.’
At this point two of the protection officers closed in and, with a nod from the priest, descended on Darsh. He dodged the first officer and managed to aim a blow at the home secretary’s head, at which a gasp of horror came from the back pews. Kate saw Diana Kidd’s hat rise up like a fishing float and Ingrid Eyam slump back in her pew with a look of social horror. Darsh was seized and thrown to the ground like a rag doll. His face was pressed into the two figures etched into medieval brass a few feet from where Lockhart sat. One officer held him down with a hand placed in the middle of his back while the other searched him for weapons.
A man got up and attempted to interpose himself. ‘Is this really necessary? I know him: He means no harm.’ But they took no notice. Darsh was picked up with the same contemptuous ease as he had been floored. ‘I was going to say a prayer,’ he shouted out. ‘It’s a Christian prayer.’ He began speaking in a high, panicky voice. ‘Though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day. While we look not at the things which are seen but the things which are not seen.’
As he was frogmarched towards the door he yelled out, ‘For the things . . . which are seen . . . are temporal; the things which are not seen . . . are ETERNAL.’
A moment later he was propelled from the church. A kind of reverence was restored and the service limped to its conclusion. Then it was time for David Eyam’s remains to be borne from the church and taken to a crematorium where the job of incineration would be completed. Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor were played on a clattering, wheezy organ and after a moment of introspection the congregation filed out, led by Ingrid Eyam on Glenny’s arm.
Kate waited, looking at the faces that passed her, and became aware of Kilmartin, the man from the inquest, watching her from the other side of the aisle with candid interest. When their eyes met he gave her a little bow of his head then looked away. The crush of people in the aisle meant she could not leave immediately. Her eyes fell to some verses on the back page of the order of service, which she had not noticed before.
The Death of Me
Carry me over floods, sister!
Carry me to the other side!
And I’ll wait for you here, sister,
’Til we cross the swelling tide.
I may be gone for now, sister,
For others say I’ve died.
But I’ll wait for you here, sister,
’Til we take the waters wide.
I lost my heart to you, sister;
Then death became my bride.
Carry me over floods, sister;
Carry me from where I hide.
Carry me over floods, sister;
Carry me to the other side.
And I’ll wait for you here , sister,
My
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